


separation is inevitable (but so is reunion)

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Time Travel, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, shrinkyclinks, this was basically just an excuse to write ws!bucky in lots of glitter, too many buckys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 00:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21519070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The asset has tracked and located its target. Steven Grant Rogers, twenty-four years old, will become Captain America and a threat to Hydra in a few months."Kill him before that happens," Pierce had ordered before sending him back in time.(In which the asset meets Steve Rogers before the serum, fails his mission for the first time, and re-learns how to feel.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 81
Kudos: 428





	separation is inevitable (but so is reunion)

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh i love shrinkyclinks with a passion so the only natural response was to write a 10k fic on them. Obviously
> 
> Oh well. This wouldn't have been possible without Ellie's (@elliebbarnes on twitter) help who beta-ed and helped me edit this; and Gracey (@teenytabris) who also read it and motivated me so much ;;U;; thank you girls this really means a lot to me and wouldn't have been possible without your support, lots of love for you two ❤️❤️❤️!!!!
> 
> enjoy!

**1942**

The asset has tracked and located its target. Steven Grant Rogers, twenty-four years old, will become Captain America and a threat to Hydra in a few months. 

_Kill him before that happens,_ Pierce had ordered before sending him back in time, _and make it hurt. Give him the slowest, most painful death ever. Make him beg._

So the asset thinks of the best way to do so. It shouldn’t be so hard; in fact it seems way too easy. Steve Rogers has many health issues to be used against him. He’s small and weak and the first part of the job it’s kind of already done. The asset has been observing him for quite a while and the little guy’s been fighting in an alley, or more like getting the shit beaten out of him. He doesn’t give up, but if it continues like this for a few more minutes the asset guesses Steve Rogers is going to black out.

The asset can’t allow some random brats to finish the mission for it. So it decides it’s time to interfere.

The asset jumps off the roof it’s been watching the whole time and falls in front of Steve Rogers, shielding him with its body. The bullies gasp and back away a few steps. The asset takes out its knife and the guys scream and run away. The asset lets them escape. There’s no point in wasting energy. It picks up the target’s ragged breathing and turns to face him, flipping the knife as it does so when…

“Bucky?” the target, Steve Rogers, gasps in surprise. 

The asset isn’t wearing the mask — another of Pierce’s orders; _let him see who’s doing this to him. Destroy him._

“Who the hell is…” the asset begins, but before he can even finish the question, Steve Rogers is already throwing himself at the asset and it would be oh so easy to plunge the knife into his back then, but the asset is frozen in place as Steve’s arms _hug_ him tightly, whatever that means.

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve sobs. He breaks the embrace to look into the asset’s eyes, and he seems so sad. The asset doesn’t know why that bothers it. The asset isn’t allowed to be bothered by stuff. _The asset must be malfunctioning and needs to report this to its handlers as soon as it goes back._

Steve cups his cheek and the asset is transfixed.

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve repeats woefully. “Who did this to you? Bucky?”

The asset isn’t supposed to answer questions, so it doesn’t. But the asset is malfunctioning, so it doesn’t plunge the knife into Steve’s body either.

Steve Rogers hugs him again and so easily, just like that, the asset is disarmed.

And then the asset flees.

Steve Rogers’ enthusiastic grip lets go eventually and the first thing the asset does is leave. Steve Rogers barely has time to blink before he registers the asset is gone.

Steve Rogers goes home, eventually.

Now the asset watches him from a rooftop far away. It aims at Steve with its rifle. It knows a clean shot will end up Steve’s life right away and feels itself smirk. It knows it’s partially disobeying orders, but surely Pierce will understand that Steve is way too dangerous for it to be around—he makes it malfunction; so it sticks to the priority: killing him.

And then it notices.

Steve Rogers’ seems to be having trouble breathing, even for his standards, _(How do you even know about his standards?)_ and the asset feels its blood go cold. Instinct takes over so it lowers the rifle and enters Steve’s house through the bedroom’s window. Steve is coughing loudly in the living room and the asset knows exactly what to do. It goes through Steve’s belongings until it finds a syringe and the medicine

_you should always carry this with you, punk_

The asset enters the living room. Steve Rogers is curled up in a ball on one of the couches, so he doesn’t notice until the asset pokes him and the plates recalibrate and the metal arm makes a noise.

The asset is…

Upset.

Steve Rogers gives a start and looks up at the asset. His face is red, his eyes glassy. The coughing has stopped. He’s tended his wounds as best as he could by himself, but his face is still swollen and scratched.

Steve Rogers eyes the syringe, then the asset’s face. He looks like he might cry ( _again?_ ).

“Thank you Buck, but I’m not having an asthma attack.”

“Oh,” the asset mumbles before it even registers. It’s not supposed to talk, but it’s broken the rules already and somehow the handlers always know it when it does, so it might as well make the punishment worth it. “Why are your heartbeat and breathing rates so abnormal then. I sensed distress.”

“Oh,” now it’s time for Steve Rogers to say. He looks flustered all of a sudden. “Um, that’s because I… well, I was crying.”

“Crying,” the asset repeats.

Steve Rogers nods. “It’s because I miss you so much.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Of course I do,” Steve snaps fiercely. “You’re not my Bucky, am I right? But you _are_ Bucky. I don’t know what the hell is going on but I know _you_. _You are Bucky.”_

“I don’t know what a Bucky is.”

“That’s your name, you idiot.”

The asset shakes its head. “I don’t have that.”

Steve Rogers looks like he might break down crying again. He approaches the asset

_break his neck_

….tucks a strand of hair behind the asset’s ears

_knife. To the throat_

“...did this to you, Bucky?”

The asset closes his eyes tight, tries to control the intrusive thoughts depicting horrible, dying scenes. _Stop it._

“I’m not allowed to answer that question.”

“Allowed,” Steve points out. “Are you on a mission, soldier?” 

Steve Rogers is smirking, the little shit. Like he does when he knows he’s being clever. The asset gives him a wary glance. It doesn’t reply, so Steve takes it as a yes.

“Who sent you?”

“I can’t say.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Can’t say.”

“Why are you here?”

“Can’t say.”

“I see.” Steve Rogers has more questions, the asset can tell. But he keeps them to himself, probably because he knows the asset won’t tell him anyway.

A silence follows. 

Against its better judgement, the asset dares. “Where is he?”

Steve Rogers seems surprised the asset asked something.

“Who?”

“The person you’re taking me for.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighs melancholically. “He’s not here. He won’t be for a few weeks yet—he’s in Basic.”

“I see.”

Steve Rogers smiles, but it still looks kind of wrong. The asset is unsure how it has that information.

“So it will be just you and me. You can stay here as long as you need, by the way. I’m guessing that will be until you finish your mission?”

The asset’s eyes widen. “Do you want me to finish the mission?” It asks. 

Steve shrugs. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“The asset is not allowed to want things.”

“You’re not an asset,” Steve replies. He looks pissed off all of a sudden. “You’re Bucky.”

“Bucky,” the asset whispers.

“Uh-huh. Now c’mon, let’s go to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Steve Rogers leads the asset to the main bedroom and asks if it wants its boots off. He offers it some of Bucky’s (the real Bucky Barnes’, not this shell that looks like him) clothes in case it wants to change, even if they’ll fit too tight. The asset is confused, so Steve gets impatient and takes the boots off anyway. He tries to get the asset to take its gear off too, but the asset inevitably flinches when that happens and Steve’s eyes go wide and then very sad.

He lets it be. Steve turns his back on the asset and tells it to sleep. He seems to be trying to occupy as little space as he’s physically capable of so the asset might make itself comfortable, and the asset can’t help but think, _cute_.

The asset can’t fall asleep. Steve Rogers does, but the asset senses him stir after a short while.

Steve Rogers seems to think that the asset is asleep and leaves the room. The asset listens to the little noises he makes, the sound of pencil against paper. It’s relaxing and the asset its tired and its eyelids start to feel heav—

_you have a mission, soldier_

“—ly shit! You scared the fuck out of me, Buck!”

A pencil drops. The asset registers Steve Rogers’ altered breathing pattern. The asset registers its own altered breathing patt...

_malfunction_

...but it couldn’t care less when it becomes aware of Steve Rogers’ puffy, red eyes. He’s sitting in front of a small, worn out desk, lots of papers and pencils in it. His hands are dirty.

“You’re crying again.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah,” Steve sniffs as he rubs the palm of his hand against his nose. “M'sorry.”

“Why are you crying again.”

Steve Rogers looks down. “It’s because you’re him. Aren’t you? Future Bucky.”

The plates of the arm recalibrate. “I already told you. I’m. Not.”

“Yes. You. Are,” Steve imitates the asset’s deadpan intonation. He looks at the arm. “And you’re from the future. Which means that whatever happened to you isn’t nice and…” Steve takes a deep breath, like it physically pains him to finish that sentence. “It just breaks my heart.”

“Why.”

“Because I care about you.”

_heart rate: increased_

“Why.”

“Because I love you.”

The arm whirs. “Why?” The asset is failing at keeping its voice neutral. _The assssset needs to be chchecked—_

Steve smiles, but it seems so sad. “Because you’re my boyfriend? You idiot.”

“I’m not. That.”

“Yes, you are,” Steve Rogers states stubbornly. “And I don’t give a fuck what they’ve told you, or who told you, but whatever they said to make you believe that you’re not a person, that you’re not my fucking boyfriend—it’s a lie. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, you’re my boyfriend and a pain in the ass, and I love you so fucking much it hurts me to be away from you, and it hurts me to see you like this. Now, is that enough of a reason for you?”

_status: information overload. needs further examination_

The asset is…

Erratic.

“I’m your boyfriend,” the asset repeats, processing.

“Yeah.”

“And you love me.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been sent here to kill you.”

“Ye—wait, what? _Why?”_

“Because.”

Aware that the asset isn’t going to add anything else, Steve sighs.

“Well, why haven’t you done it yet?”

“Because,” the asset says, and lets it hang.

Steve understands, somehow.

“Good,” he says.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

For a minute, Steve Rogers almost grins.

“Of you? Nah. You’ve had plenty of chances, if you wanted to do it you’d had done it already.”

“What if I’m waiting for the right time.”

Steve Rogers rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

The asset decides it’s a pretty good excuse, so it can stay a few more days.

* * *

Here’s the thing: the asset is an instinctive creature. _He’s_ used to following his intuition to fill in the blanks when his handlers don’t give him enough information to carry on a mission.

And somehow he feels Steve Rogers is always right.

 _He_ still doesn’t really feel like James Buchanan Barnes, or Bucky, or Buck, or Steve Rogers’ boyfriend; but if Steve Rogers is sure that the asset is a _person,_ then he must be right. So _he_ can start with that.

Steve is exhausted, so this time he falls asleep pretty easily. The asset doesn’t, so he goes around lurking.

He goes to the next room and sees whatever Steve was working on. There are drawings, lots of them. _This must be Bucky,_ the asset thinks, and then in the last page finds one of himself. Of the asset

_his eyes look so haunted_

The asset finds the beginning of a letter. It’s Steve’s and it’s addressed to Bucky Barnes. The real Bucky Barnes. The asset reads it—Steve has told him about the asset’s visit, and the letter ends suddenly, presumably when Steve was surprised by the asset.

The asset is 

_so fucking angry that his vision goes red_

...doesn’t know when he shut down but he wakes up with a start and the smell of food. He appears in the kitchen, where Steve is making eggs and bacon.

“Hey! You’re awake.”

“Hey.”

“How are you feeling? Do you want to eat?”

The asset _stares_.

“Wha—oh fuck, I’m sorry. You’re not allowed to say what you want, right?”

“No.”

“You’re just allowed to follow orders.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Then I order you to say what you actually want, when you want it,” Steve smiles at him like he’s so fucking clever. The asset feels _warm_ and he fucking hates it.

“You drew me,” he says.

Steve Rogers goes red and he almost drops the frying pan. The asset intervenes and takes the frying pan in his hands, picking up where Steve left off.

“You saw those?!”

“You wrote half a letter too.”

“Bucky!” Steve reproaches. “You shouldn’t go looking through other people’s stuff like that!”

“I don’t—“ the asset begins, and it’s harder than he thought it would be. He serves the eggs. Steve’s jaw is set like he does when he’s angry, but his eyes are curious as to what Bucky has to say.

“You don’t…?”

“I don’t… want… that.”

The last traces of annoyance disappear entirely from Steve’s face. He seems eager now.

“What? What don’t you want, Bucky?”

“I don’t want you to draw me,” the asset finally lets out, and _God it feels so good._ “And I don’t want you to tell him. About me. I don’t. Want.”

“Okay,” Steve says a little bit breathlessly. “Okay, Buck. Nothing you’re not comfortable with.”

The asset feels good, and warm, so it must be a trick.

“You’re gonna punish me now. For saying. That.”

“Wha—of course not! I’m not gonna punish you! I want you to feel safe. I want you to feel like you can tell me about this stuff, because I will listen.”

“But it feels. _Good.”_

Steve smiles tenderly.

_heart rate: increased_

“Saying what you want makes you feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I want you to keep doing that, soldier. Now, can I touch you?”

The asset doesn’t know what to say, and he still doesn’t know if this is a twisted test. So he nods.

Steve Rogers approaches him, cups his cheek _like the first time he saw it—him,_ and kisses him there. It’s soft and quick and the asset wants _more_. And the asset is allowed to say what he wants.

“Do that. Again.”

Steve Rogers gives him a million dollar smile. “You like that?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Steve does it again and the asset kind of overloads for a second. Steve Rogers giggles, takes his hand and guides him to the table. “Now come on, let’s have breakfast.”

The asset eats, but only because Steve’s eyes won’t leave him until he does. So the asset tastes a little bite and kind of wants to roll his eyes at how delicious it is.

Steve Rogers chuckles across the table, but the asset couldn’t care less, lost in the sensations. It tastes like home. It tastes like a Sunday morning. The asset doesn’t know how he makes that correlation.

_note to self: analyze further._

_(Later.)_

The asset can’t help himself and he eats ravenously, finishing everything in a few minutes. Steve Rogers offers him his ration too, but no matter how delicious, Steve is too thin and needs to eat, so the asset resists the urge to take it.

It’s better anyway, because he ends up throwing everything up in less than an hour.

Steve frets over him. The asset tells him it’s not the food. It’s just that he isn’t used to eating like a normal person anymore, so his stomach can’t handle it.

Steve frets over him anyway. He holds the asset’s hair and puts his other hand on the asset’s shoulder, whispering sweet nothings as the asset empties his stomach.

(It’s weird, having someone to fret over you. The asset might have shivered a little bit at the touch).

When the asset is done, Steve helps him wash his mouth and his face. When he dries it, Steve asks “Are you feeling alright?” and the asset replies “Functional.” Steve Rogers seems to be at a loss at what to answer so his mouth just sets into a very thin line. 

The asset doesn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, Steve seems like the kind of guy who always has a comeback for everything, so it sort of feels like a victory. On the other hand, he looks sad and the asset doesn’t like that.

Steve Rogers is a confusing person.

Steve Rogers says, “Do you want to take a shower?”

The asset goes blank, and then he’s hit by flashes of being stripped and pushed against a wall and he thinks of cold water and teeth chattering. He thinks of bruises that heal too quickly and laughter and being pulled by the hair. The asset knows the showers _hurt_ and Steve Rogers isn’t supposed to hurt him, unless—

“—cky! Bucky! Bucky!”

The asset’s vision is blurry. He feels overwhelmed, like his head is about to explode, but he can’t focus on anything. It’s suddenly dark, and it’s scary, and Steve Rogers’ voice sounds muffled, like it comes from underwater, further and further away. Until it stops. It stops and the asset has no knowledge of what happened or how much time passed, but when his vision clears again he’s on top of Steve Rogers, squeezing his throat tightly. Steve is going purple, his eyes bulging, and the asset lets go so fast as if something just burned his hand.

Steve curls into himself and coughs. The asset sits a few feet away from him. Steve Rogers is tiny and still has scratches and bruises from the fight from the previous day, and now he’ll have some more on his long pale neck. The asset wants to throw up again at the thought.

He doesn’t.

Steve’s coughing fit dies out eventually. He stays curled up for a bit longer, until he gathers enough strength to sit up clumsily and look at the asset.

“Are you okay.” He can’t even intonate it as a question. His voice sounds very weak and that’s all it takes. The asset freaks out and leaves the bathroom, locks himself up in the closest room he finds just so that he won’t have to deal with Steve. It’s just too much. 

He hears Steve calling his name, knocking the door. But the asset doesn’t open, and he spirals into nightmares and dark thoughts.

* * *

When the asset regains consciousness of himself, it’s dark outside. He can hear the city noises, cars honking, people talking.

The house, in contrast, is too quiet.

Bucky isn’t sure if he’s ready to come out of his hiding place, but he really doesn't have much of a choice—yeah, he could leave, but where would he go anyway? And it’s not like he wants to leave Steve, so confrontation is unavoidable.

He opens the door and his heart does a funny thing when he sees Steve Rogers lying on the floor; right in front of the entrance. His mouth is agape, his eyes are closed. He’s snoring slightly.

The bruises look pretty bad. The asset kneels down, suddenly wanting to touch Steve’s rosy cheeks. _Not with the metal hand._

The asset barely grazes Steve’s cheek before he opens his eyes. His expression is soft and he smiles groggily at the asset.

The metal arm whirs.

“Hey,” Steve says. “Are you feeling better?”

The asset drops his hand. “I’m. Functional.”

Steve’s face does that heartbreaking thing again.

“I didn’t ask that, Buck. I meant emotionally.”

“Why. That’s irrelevant to the mission.”

“It matters to me.”

“Why.” The asset is getting anxious. “Why, when I tried to fucking. Kill you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could’ve.”

“But you didn’t,” Steve insists. The asset doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for this, for he feels like a beast when he looks at the purple splotches blooming in Steve’s neck. But Steve is so confident, and he looks at the asset like there’s something good in him, something precious even. And that’s important too.

“I don’t think...” The asset pauses, considering. “I don’t think I want to. Kill you.”

“Good,” Steve Rogers says. Then he smiles again, and the asset is at a loss.

“Why are you so. Kind to me?”

Steve squints his eyes, smiling cutely. “Because I see you try so hard all the time,” Steve replies. “You’ve always been like that, Buck. Working three shifts so you could help your ma and your sisters. So you could buy my medicines. Offering to let me move in with you after my ma died. Saving up and working even harder so we could move in together. And now,” Steve goes on, even if the asset has no idea what he’s thinking about. His expression turns bittersweet. “Fighting with yourself so you can do the right thing. Even after all they’ve done to you. Jesus Christ, Buck.” Steve leans closer, cupping the asset’s face in his hands _and the asset does not function properly._ “You’re so brave. And so strong and kind. I think you deserve a little bit of kindness in return too.”

The asset doesn’t know how nearly choking Steve Rogers to death could be considered kindness, or the hundreds of murders he’s committed. But Steve Rogers thinks he’s kind and Steve Rogers is right about everything.

“I do try. Pretty hard,” the asset admits softly. 

Steve Rogers just smiles and hugs him, and the metal arm buzzes when Steve buries his face in the asset’s neck and whispers, “I know, buddy, I know you do.” And then, “Does your arm always make those noises?”

“Not really. When I’m fighting, or…” the asset trails off.

“Or?”

“...or nervous.”

The asset can’t see Steve’s face but he can feel him smile against his neck.

“Cute,” Steve Rogers mumbles, and the asset allows himself to breathe a content sigh. Steve looks at his eyes. “You should sleep. You look like shit.”

“Look who’s talking, punk.” The asset replies. Steve’s face brightens so the asset asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve looks away, trying to hide a little smile behind the palm of his hand. “But seriously. You need to sleep.”

“Can’t. Otherwise I might end up.”

The asset lets it hang.

Steve frowns. “End up what?”

The asset says nothing, he just stretches a hand, but _not the metal one,_ and barely touches Steve’s neck. Steve flinches at the pain.

“Yeah, well, okay, I get it. But you’re gonna have to sleep some time or another.”

“I don’t need to. I can go for. A week. Or so. I’ll remain functional.”

Steve sighs. “It’s not about that, Buck.”

“What is it about then.”

Steve blinks. “Taking care of yourself? I understand that you’re… different now. But there’s no need to put yourself through this.”

“You don’t. Get it,” the asset says. “I can’t sleep. _Literally.”_

“Why?”

The asset is…

Nervous.

Steve Rogers offers him a friendly smile. “It’s okay, Buck. I’ll watch over you. And I know a way to get you to sleep.”

* * *

The asset feels…

Cozy.

Steve is sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard. The asset’s head is resting on Steve’s bony legs, and even if it’s not what other people would call soft, it’s Steve, and it’s the softest the asset has ever felt. So it’s kind of the best thing in the world.

Steve runs his fingers through the asset’s hair.

The asset grunts. It’s like electricity, what he feels going through his body. But good. So good, in fact, that he zones out a little.

_warning: weakness. vulnerable spot_

“...okay? Bucky?”

Steve sounds concerned.

“...hm?”

“I asked if you were okay. You used to love it when I touched your hair, made you real drowsy. But I can stop if you don’t like it anymore.”

“N-no.”

There’s a hint of amusement in Steve’s voice. “You don’t want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Good,” Steve chuckles, then starts stroking the asset’s hair again. The asset closes his eyes and allows himself to feel. It’s too much, after being starved of touch, _gentle touch,_ for so long. So he grunts again, until he begins to get used to the pleasant sensation and relaxes. It feels so good. His eyelids get very heavy.

“I’m starting to think you let the hair grow on purpose so I would do this more often,” Steve teases cheerfully. 

The asset grunts again. The asset could explain to Steve how he has no control over his hair, that it’s his handlers’ decision. But the asset doesn’t want to talk about that. He doesn’t want to think about his handlers before he drifts off or he’ll get nightmares.

“Tell me. About.” 

Steve hums. “What would you like to hear about?”

“Home,” the asset says. 

So Steve talks, tells him about the summer days in Brooklyn, the times Bucky Barnes has taken care of him, the laughter. And the asset allows himself to close his eyes and enjoy the sensation of the caresses in his hair, the lovely sound of Steve’s deep voice painting pictures with his words—nice pictures—and the asset shuts down.

* * *

There is… a dream. No, it’s more real than that.

It’s a _memory._

The asset is not the asset, but Bucky Barnes. He’s wearing his military uniform—not the one that Hydra put on him, but _before…_ There was a before. _Before Hydra._

He’s thought there was no such thing for so long.

In the memory he’s smiling. He looks so hopeful and happy, and as the memory expands he knows why he looks like that. He’s looking at him, at Steve Rogers. He’s just come back from Basic, and Steve Rogers is waiting for him. Steve Rogers gives him the tightest hug he can give and they go home. Bucky Barnes wants to hold Steve’s hand but it’s dangerous out in the open, in plain daylight like that.

In the end it's Steve Rogers who does it first, as soon as they enter the house. Steve Rogers takes Bucky Barnes’ hand and squeezes it and then looks up at Bucky Barnes like he’s the most precious thing in the world, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his smile the biggest thing Bucky’s ever seen. Bucky doesn’t know what he did to deserve to be looked at that way, but he’s certainly not going to protest about it. It’s nice, to be looked at that way.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Steve Rogers breathes, voice raspy. “I just missed you.”

Bucky Barnes leans in and gives him a hell of a kiss.

* * *

When the asset regains consciousness, he’s half awake, half still asleep. Steve’s hands are no longer in his hair, and he can hear a streak of soft whispers in the quiet of the room. The asset doesn’t open his eyes, his tired brain pulling him down.

“...Father, I pray for the soul of James Buchanan Barnes. I pray so that he will find his way back to You again. I pray so that he won’t suffer anymore. I pray…”

Steve Rogers is praying, and it’s familiar. The asset knows he’s heard something similar _before,_ the nights before he shipped to Europe. He would wake up and hear Steve praying, but never said anything so he wouldn’t disturb him. The asset feels himself smile a little bit, for there is a _before,_ and there is God, and Steve Rogers is praying for his soul. There is justice.

* * *

There are no more dreams, but there are no nightmares either.

* * *

The asset regains full consciousness after a few more hours, and the minute he opens his eyes he’s hit by the sight of Steve Rogers dozing off right in front of him. It makes him a little breathless. The asset loves the frown that’s usually there, because it means he’s got a lot of fight, a lot of spirit. But he also loves looking at him like that. So relaxed. So beautiful.

He looks like an angel.

He’s probably one. A bruised one. A warrior one, like Michael the archangel.

The asset thinks he really needs to be checked soon because he’s thinking nonsense and his heart is getting more and more erratic. The asset isn’t supposed to get sick, but there is that.

The arm makes a whirring sound and it wakes up Steve Rogers.

“Hey,” he says very softly, cupping the asset’s face. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” the asset replies, and it’s true. He’d forgotten what it felt like to fall asleep naturally, 

to wake up slowly. 

Steve’s smile widens. “I’m glad.”

“You were praying. For me.”

Steve’s cheeks go a lovely shade of pink. “You heard that?”

The asset nods. Steve sighs.

“I was praying for your soul, yeah.”

“I have a. Soul?”

“One of the purest ones I’ve ever seen.”

The asset makes a noise. Steve is lying.

“Bullshit. You can’t see. Those. And anyway...” the asset trails off. It’s useless, telling him about everything he’s done, everything they’ve put him through. If he has a soul, it must be filthy. But Steve Rogers doesn’t lie, and Steve Rogers is a warrior, and Steve Rogers is pure and if God listens to someone at all then the asset guesses it must be people like Steve Rogers. And Steve thinks he’s worth saving, and that makes the asset feel like maybe there’s something good in him, if Steve Rogers sees it. Maybe not everything is lost.

The asset feels hopeful. The asset also feels desperately hopeless, because this is a distraction, and soon he’ll have to leave.

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to what, Buck?”

“Leave.”

“Then don’t leave. You can stay here as long as you want to.”

“You know I. Can’t,” the asset says. 

Steve expression falls, because he knows it’s true. There is no way Hydra is going to let go of their most precious asset that easily, and even if they did, there’s still _Bucky Barnes._ The actual Bucky Barnes who belongs in the 40’s.

Steve sighs, deflated. “I know.”

The asset feels a pang of pain in his chest. It’s so sudden and intense that it freaks him out. His eyes sting and his vision gets terribly blurry.

_warning: severe malfunction. must be chchchecked o-o-out immmmmediately._

“...crying?”

The asset sniffs. His cheeks are wet. He opens his mouth to ask Steve to repeat himself, but the only thing that comes out is a pained noise. Steve gasps.

“What's wrong, Bucky? Are you hurting?”

The asset lets out another noise. _It’s a sob,_ something deep inside him reminds him.

“W-what. The hell. I-is this.”

He sounds so ridiculous, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

“You’re crying,” Steve Rogers mumbles. His voice is soft, like a caress. “It’s fine. We usually cry when we’re sad,” he explains. “Are you sad, Bucky?”

_Sad._

The asset nods, hides his face behind his hands.

“Why are you sad?”

“Because. I don’t want. To leave y-you,” another sob, deep and pained. “And. Then you won’t. Be there.”

“I,” Steve says breathlessly. There’s a pause. He’s probably trying to get that temper in check. Or maybe he just doesn’t know what to say. “Okay, maybe I’m not there with you.” Steve swallows thickly. “But we’ll always meet again. You can always come back here. Or to any other time—I’ll always be waiting with my arms open.”

The asset sobs again.

“There’s is no. Point. I’ll always have to. Come back to. Them. S-Separation is. Inevitable.”

“Maybe,” Steve concedes. “But so is reunion. Don’t you get it? We said till the end of the line. I’m sticking.”

The asset doesn’t know why those words hit so deep, but they do, so he sobs harder.

“Till the end of the. Line.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and gives him a little peck on the lips.

The asset just…

_What?_

The asset doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he sobs harder, deeper. Steve Rogers apologizes and the asset shakes his head, curls up and hides his face in Steve’s neck, breathing his essence, feeling so crushingly small under the adoration and kindness Steve gives him. And it’s so good, and it’s been so long since the asset has been _good,_ so he just cries harder. He just can’t bring himself to stop it.

Steve whines at the pain when the asset’s face touches the bruises, but when the asset tries to back away, Steve pulls him close again. Steve strokes the asset’s back and hair and whispers soothing words in his ear and the asset thinks he could live on that moment alone, forever.

“I don’t want to. Forget. About this.” The asset whispers against Steve’s neck.

“Then don’t.”

“I will. They’ll wipe me and. They’ll make me. Forget.”

There is a pause. Steve Rogers’ breathing pattern is altered, like the asset’s. When he speaks again, his voice sounds choked.

“Well that only means that you’ll have to come back to me. And I’ll make you remember.”

“Good,” the asset says, and knows it’s true because he can always trust Steve Rogers.

“Bucky,” Steve calls, after a while of just… cuddling. Existing together.

“Yes.” The asset doesn’t feel like that name represents him, but Steve calls him by it. The asset could probably get used to that.

“There’s something I think you’ll like to remember. Something you really liked doing. But we have to go out.”

The asset considers.

“...Okay,” the asset says, because he trusts Steve Rogers.

They get up. Steve is giggly, excited. The asset thinks he’s smiling at seeing Steve like that.

“We need to dress up,” Steve announces. They don’t have much clothes and the asset thinks he remembers, sort of. Being poor. But Steve is excited and he offers the asset Bucky Barnes’ good suit. After the shower incident, Steve is much more careful with touching the asset, so he lets the asset dress himself, even turning away to respect his privacy.

It’s… weird. The asset is used to being stared at. The asset is used to being examined. The asset isn’t used to having privacy.

Bucky Barnes’ suit fits him a little too tightly, but it will do. He tells Steve, “I’m ready.”

Steve turns around and _Christ,_ his face goes so red. He bites his lip and the asset stops functioning for a few seconds.

“What.”

“...look good, is all,” Steve Rogers says, then averts his eyes. 

The arm makes noise. Steve Rogers chuckles and the asset feels _warm._

Steve dresses up, too. _He’s too goddamn cute,_ the asset can’t help but think. And then Steve Rogers guides him to the bathroom and sits him in front of the mirror.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

“Yes.”

_I want you to touch me all the time._

Steve Rogers touches the asset’s hair and the asset sighs in content. Steve takes a few strands of it and makes a side braid, then pulls the rest of the asset’s hair into a ponytail. He leaves a few loose strands framing his face.

“Look at you, champ. I got myself a catch,” he says, staring at the asset’s eyes in his reflection, and kisses his head.

The asset whimpers. The asset thinks Steve Rogers might be right. The asset feels positive about his looks.

Steve Rogers combs his hair back, using a lot of gel so it stays that way. He looks very handsome as he smiles at the asset.

The asset smiles back. Or tries to. Steve doesn’t seem to mind if it’s a grimace or not.

“It’s time for the good stuff, big guy,” Steve says. The asset can see that dressing up has helped his self-esteem, as well. He seems more confident.

The asset waits as Steve fetches something. He comes back with a bag.

“Makeup,” he says as he opens it. The asset blinks.

“We’re going to a queer club,” Steve explains. “Our favorite place. You don’t need to wear it if you don’t want to, but we used to like going all the way when dressing up. So. How do you feel about glitter?”

The asset doesn’t know how he feels about glitter. Glitter is probably forbidden at Hydra. Glitter is not what an assassin would wear, but according to Steve, it's what Bucky Barnes would.

So the asset says, “Okay.”

Steve gives him the biggest smile. The plates in the asset's arm recalibrate.

“Okay, champ, I’m gonna need your help here, ‘cause I have trouble with colors. So. Which shade would you like for your eyes?”

There are a lot to pick from. The asset picks the electric blue one, because it reminds him of the color of Steve’s eyes.

The asset is a sap.

“Good,” says Steve. “Close your eyes.”

The asset must remain with his eyes open all the time in case there’s a threat.

Steve Rogers is no threat.

The asset closes his eyes.

Steve is delicate, artistic. He puts the blue glittery dust on the asset’s eyelids. He puts some eyeliner on him, too. He hums approvingly at the asset’s stillness. The asset feels proud of himself.

Steve also asks him if he wants some lipstick. The asset thinks that lipstick wouldn’t be allowed in Hydra. The asset says yes. Then he picks a lovely shade of pink.

Steve Rogers paints his lips, then puts some blush in the asset’s cheeks, too.

The asset looks…

Flashy.

The asset looks _alive._ He looks alive and groomed and colorful. The asset likes the contrast of the vibrant colors on his pale skin. The asset likes the satisfied look on Steve Rogers’ face as he stares into the mirror.

The asset approves of the whole look.

Steve Rogers asks for the asset’s help to pick colors for himself, too, so the asset picks a golden shade for Steve’s eyes and red lipstick.

Steve Rogers does his own makeup and the asset stares the whole time, fascinated. Steve is too good at covering the scratches and bruises from the fight a few days ago, as well as the ones the asset left on his neck. The asset wonders how many times he must have practiced this before, to hide them so well.

Then Steve Rogers moves on to the flashy stuff.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind the asset’s heavy stare, and even winks at the asset or throws him kisses every now and then. Steve Rogers is not a shy person, has never been; but the makeover has unleashed a flirty, effeminate side of him that he's rarely seen.

The asset approves of that, too. He also approves of Steve Rogers makeup.

His arm approves, too. It just won’t stop recalibrating.

Steve Rogers finishes and looks at the asset, posing coquettishly.

“How do I look?” he asks, batting his long eyelashes (now even longer with mascara) and putting his hands on his hips.

The asset swallows thickly. The asset tries to keep his jaw from dropping, his speech from stammering.

“Fucking good,” the asset says, because he feels like it. Steve Rogers laughs.

“Great. Now come on, follow me.” Steve Rogers takes the asset’s hand, the _metal_ one, like it’s nothing. Then he guides him to the bedroom again.

The accessories are missing, Steve tells him. Then he pulls out a vibrant pink feather stole and puts it around the asset’s neck.

The asset likes it.

Steve, in turn, picks a necklace with fake pearls on it.

Steve says they are ready, but not before taking one last look at themselves in the mirror. 

Steve leans against the asset shoulder and takes his gloved hand.

Steve Rogers probably shouldn't touch a weapon like that, like it’s nothing.

Steve Rogers doesn’t seem to care.

The asset approves.

“You need a name, big guy,” Steve tells him, looking at their reflection. “An alias. A _woman’s_ name.”

“Any name?” the asset asks. He’s never been allowed to do this. The asset doesn’t have a name, let alone ever been allowed to pick one.

“Yeah. Mine’s Dolores.”

The asset feels like he remembers something.

“Dot,” he whispers. Steve’s eyes widen, then he nods.

“Yeah. But only you call me that.”

“Good,” the asset replies. Then he thinks about a name for himself.

“Becca,” he whispers after a while. The asset doesn’t know why it’s the first woman’s name that comes to mind, but Steve’s eyes turn surprised and glassy as he smiles at him.

“I-is it okay?”

Goddammit. The asset isn’t allowed to stammer.

“Yeah,” Steve says thickly. “I love it, _Becca._ It suits you.”

The asset leaves it at that.

They leave for the club. It’s not far away, Steve tells him, but they have to be careful. The asset knows how to be careful. The asset steals a motorcycle. Steve Rogers tells him it’s not right but the asset promises he’ll give it back once they’re done, and Steve seems to consider it, and ends up giving in.

They travel into the night. It’s good, going so fast in the dark so no one can really see them. Steve puts his hands around the asset’s waist and it’s everything.

They arrive to the club. It’s not pretty, but it’s near their home and it’s cheap and people know them, because as soon as they get in it, they are already greeting them. Steve is so different, that night. So different to the boy that frowns a little too much sometimes, that can stay hours without talking, just spending the night drawing. He’s all smiles, laughter and charisma; and the way he sways his hips when he moves through the club is _driving the asset crazy,_ sending electricity to the lower part of his stomach.

Maybe he’s about to short circuit. The asset doesn’t really know what that means, he just knows that he wants to push Steve against a wall and become tainted with the fiery red of his lipstick...

_m-m-malfunction. but who fucking cares._

...there is no danger. Everyone is like them, there. Everyone is dolled up, wearing glitter and fake pearls and mascara. Steve jokes with some of them. Steve squeezes their hands and giggles and makes conversation through the music. 

Some of them throw looks at the asset, some even dare to wink at him. Some of them compliment his hair and treat him with familiarity. The asset assumes they’re taking him for Bucky Barnes, too, but the asset feels weird anyway, even if that’s a reasonable conclusion. He’s used to being stared at and he’s used to being uncomfortable. But there’s something about the openness, the closeness of those strangers that doesn’t make him feel in danger. 

Maybe it’s because they know Steve. Maybe it’s because Steve puts his hand around the asset’s waist and the asset feels _safe._

Steve Rogers guides him to the bar. The asset tells him he’s unable to get intoxicated. Steve says, “Such a shame.”

Steve orders a drink for him anyway. Steve downs his glass all at once, so the asset does the same. The alcohol burns his throat and somehow he remembers the sensation. It’s worth it, when Steve smiles at him bright. The red lipstick brings out his perfect teeth and the asset feels the need to kiss him.

He doesn’t.

Steve orders another set of drinks, then drags the asset to the dance floor. The asset knows a lot about lots of things, so even if he doesn’t quite remember, he knows they’re dancing twist. Steve tries to teach him, even if he’s “not much of a dancer himself,” as he tells the asset. The asset agrees, but doesn’t care. Steve Rogers doesn’t move as gracefully as other people, and he gets tired easily so he has to take breaks too often, but he’s passionate and stubborn and _too fucking cute and sexy and I fucking hate red but I would gladly be stained by that lipstick._

After Steve Rogers has taught him a few moves, he seems to get impatient. He throws his arms around the asset’s neck and purrs in his ear: “C’mon, champ. You were the one who taught me this, so dance with me.”

Steve’s voice is thick and irresistible. He’s in charge and he knows it, and the asset can’t help but want to please him. He shuts his eyes and allows instinct to take over, taking Steve’s hand in his and moving his hips and feet. Steve Rogers yelps and then laughs. The asset opens his eyes and Steve’s expression looks more than pleased, his pupils so dilated they almost swallow all the blue in his eyes, his smile wide and open.

The asset laughs back. It’s easy, easier than he thought. He puts more enthusiasm in his dance moves and lets the music swallow him. Steve Rogers follows his lead and they easily become in sync. 

After a few songs, Steve Rogers pants and presses his sweaty body against the asset and breathes hotly in his ear: “I need to rest.”

They sit by the bar. They laugh and chat (well, Steve Rogers does the most part there, telling the asset about other club adventures) and watch other couples on the dance floor. There’s something magical about this place, the asset thinks. People here are flashy and extravagant, hiding their true faces under mascara and glitter, and yet they feel much more authentic than most people. Like the makeup is not a cover, but an expression of their inner selves.

He can understand why Bucky Barnes and Steve liked doing this.

After a while of resting and drinking calmly, there comes a slow song. Steve gets excited and guides the asset back to the dance floor. 

“You were the one who taught me this too,” he says as he puts a hand on the asset’s hip and takes the asset’s gloved hand with his other.

He’s leading.

The sound that the asset’s arm makes is swallowed by the loud music as the asset is hit by a flash of a memory. _Yes,_ he does remember this, so he pulls Steve closer and takes the lead himself. Steve Rogers switches, throws his hands around the asset’s neck and hides his face against the asset’s skin, letting out a content sigh. The asset feels a shiver go down his spine.

Steve Rogers smells like cologne and sweat, and the asset drinks in the smell, saving it deep down in his memory. He likes it. He also likes glitter, feathers, and all things nice and pretty; like Steve Rogers’ pretty little mouth brought up by red lipstick, like the way he kisses the asset on the cheek as if the asset is the same old Bucky Barnes he fell in love with.

The asset likes Steven Grant Rogers, that’s all.

Someone pokes his shoulder. It’s a guy dressed even more extravagantly than most people here; wearing a tight sequin dress and fake eyelashes, and a fancy hat with feathers in it. He’s carrying a camera and he asks if he can take a picture of them. Steve Rogers seems to know him so he says yes. He looks at the camera, arms still around the asset’s neck. He whispers in his ear, “Smile,” and then does so himself, his perfect white teeth showing through the bright red of his lips. 

The asset isn’t sure what to do, foreign to the situation, but he likes the way Steve Rogers’ body presses against him, the way he won’t let him go. So the asset lets the tiniest smile show.

The camera flashes. The guy leaves and the asset thinks of what could have happened to that picture. It must be lost somewhere, for the people would go crazy if they saw Captain America like that. If it still exists somewhere, it’s very likely that people haven’t realized who is in that picture, hidden behind glitter and fake pearls.

The asset promises to himself that as soon as he’s free from Hydra’s claws, he’ll look for it.

The asset doesn’t want to think about Hydra anymore, so he focuses on Steve’s warm body against his. The asset pats the lower part of Steve’s back and Steve looks up at him. The asset leans in and presses his lips against Steve’s.

Steve is shocked, but he soon gets past it when the asset’s lips start moving on instinct. The asset is _gonna_ _fucking overload. The asssssset can’t thhhhink clearly. The assssssset's head is spinning._

_big fucking malfunction._

Steve Rogers makes a breathy sound that goes straight to the asset’s groin. He parts his lips and Steve takes advantage, pushing his tongue in the assssssset’s mouth and the asset is _gonna fucking overload,_ the asset can’t _thhhhhink_ clearly but that’s fucking _okay,_ so he lets instinct take over and kisses the hell out of Steve Rogers.

* * *

Steve Rogers is a little too drunk to protest about the stolen motorcycle when they leave. He leans against the asset’s back and buries his face between his shoulder plates, hugging him tightly. The asset thinks it’s hella _nice_.

Steve Rogers giggles when the asset speeds up. He says he likes the wind against his warm skin, and the asset hums in agreement. Steve Rogers says, “This s'nice. One day m'gon get one of these for m’self.”

The asset thinks it’s a great choice. The asset thinks of riding with Steve Rogers like this, all the time.

The asset thinks it’s a really great choice.

Steve Rogers is unusually pliant and drowsy. The asset carries him and tucks him carefully in the bed, and Steve Rogers stretches out his hand in the most freaking adorable way possible.

“C’mere, baby boy,” Steve Rogers calls him, speech slurred, and the asset short circuits. 

The asset is the fist of Hydra, the asset is the world’s deadliest assassin, and the asset is Steve Rogers’ _baby boy._

The asset obeys, and they shut down together, bodies pressed close and warm.

* * *

The asset wakes up by noon. He feels a gentle caress on his cheek and he nuzzles into the touch. When he opens his eyes, Steve Rogers is watching him with the most tender expression.

“Hey,” he mumbles.

The asset feels his lips curl up involuntarily. This is so much better than waking up cold and beaten up.

“Hey.”

They stay in bed for a while, just cuddling. Steve Rogers feels lazy, but at least he isn’t hungover. Then he says; “We should go to the beach.”

So they do. They take the motorcycle. The asset promises Steve Rogers he will give it back.

_(Eventually)._

Steve Rogers won’t shut up. And the asset loves that. They travel around New York for a while, Steve telling the asset stories and anecdotes about the places they pass. When something rings a bell and the asset reminisces correctly, Steve Rogers goes “Yeah!” in the happiest tone the asset has ever heard.

The asset loves that.

The asset wants to remember more.

They arrive to the beach by the evening. It’s a nice summer day, but it’s not too crowded. Steve leads the asset to the shore. He takes off his shoes and laughs when the water kisses his pale feet. The asset stares and stares. He memorizes the way Steve's blond hair shines in the sun, the way it gets a little bit curly and messy due to the humid breeze. He memorizes the length of his eyelashes, the blush in his cheeks, the way his eyes match the color of the sea.

Steve Rogers is an artist, the asset knows. He captures beauty even in the most unlikely of subjects, _like that time he drew the asset._ But now the asset wonders, _who’s there to capture Steve Rogers’ beauty?_

The world is missing out on it. The asset wishes he could draw so he could show them what he sees.

The asset is wearing Bucky Barnes’ clothes. Steve tells him to take off his shoes and feel the water and the sand. Steve seems to be enjoying it, and Steve is to be trusted, so the asset does it.

It does feel nice. And the asset remembers—there is not a particular memory this time, just indistinctive flashes of two guys laughing, playing in the water, sitting on the sand. Long days, long summers, the scent of salt. Nothing to worry about.

They leave after the sunset, when it starts getting chilly and Steve starts to cough.

The asset thinks it’s been such a good day. The asset likes the breeze in his face, the scent of salt on Steve Rogers’ skin. The asset really fucking likes New York at dusk, when the streetlights are starting to light up, and the asset really likes Steve nuzzling against his back and the vibration his voice sends through the asset’s body when he tells him stories.

The asset thinks he’ll have to leave soon. The asset stops thinking.

* * *

They arrive back home and the asset instantly notices something is wrong. Steve Rogers is still talking cheerfully, until the asset grabs his wrist a little too forcefully to stop him from entering.

“Ow! What the hell, Bu—“

“Wait here.”

Steve Rogers frowns. “What is going on?”

“Shh. There’s someone in the house.”

“Wha — Bucky!” Steve Rogers shouts, because he’s never been one for self-preservation, or to listen to other people. The asset goes _hunting mode_ instinctively, ready to fight to death whoever threatens their little peace, but he can’t help but freeze when he meets the stranger waiting in the living room.

“Hey,” the man says, unfazed.

The asset doesn’t know what to answer.

“Bucky, what the hell is going on?!” Steve enters and nearly crashes against the asset’s back when he sees what the asset is seeing.

“B-Bucky?” Steve Rogers mumbles stupidly.

 _It is Bucky,_ or some weird version of him anyway. His hair is styled in the same way Bucky Barnes did it in the 40’s, and he’s still as pretty, but there are a few more age lines decorating his face. He’s definitely bulkier than Steve’s Bucky, and his arm is… different. It’s different than the asset’s arm, too. It’s blue with silver details, and the star, instead of being red, is painted white. 

He’s wearing a white suit with red, black, and silver details, and a circled _A_ on the left part of his chest.

“Hey, punk,” this man ( _Bucky?)_ greets Steve. Then he smiles cheekily. “Fuck, I’d forgotten how cute you used to be.”

“I’m not cute,” Steve Rogers complains, but the blush in his cheeks makes it hard to take him seriously. “And anyway, what are you even _doing_ here?”

“Did you ask him the same thing?” he says, looking at the asset. The asset frowns and Bucky Barnes sighs. “I’ve come to take him back. Otherwise he’s never gonna leave.”

The asset’s stomach _drops._

“No fucking way,” Steve Rogers protests. “Plus, how do we even know that you are actually Bucky?”

Bucky Barnes sighs, then smirks confidently. “Fair question. Are you wearing newspaper in your shoes?”

Steve blushes a deeper shade of red. “That doesn’t mean _anything.”_

Bucky Barnes rolls his eyes.

“Alright. Your mom’s name was Sarah, God rest her soul. You moved in with us after she passed away. I confessed to you in the winter of 1939, when you caught pneumonia and I really thought I was gonna lose you for good. We moved together here the next year, on our own. And it drives you crazy when I put my fingers up your—“

“O-o-okay! That’s enough!” Steve splutters, redder than the asset has ever seen him. “Okay, you’ve proved your point, but still—why is it even your business? Why are you here?”

“Seriously, Steve?” Bucky Barnes raises an eyebrow. He points at the asset. “He’s _me._ I’m the future version of him, I know what’s going to happen. Do you really think I want him to go back where he is? He’s a fucking prisoner of war, Steve. But if he stays here, it’s gonna be even worse.”

“How so?” Steve asks defiantly, nose flaring. The asset can’t manage to speak, to move, to do anything. Bucky Barnes pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“I can’t give you details, because it will fuck up the timeline. But the people he’s with right now won’t let him go that easily. It’s just a matter of days before they come looking for him.” Bucky Barnes looks at the asset. “You know that, don’t you?”

“We’ll beat them,” Steve interrupts before the asset can find his voice. This is far _too much._

Bucky Barnes scoffs. “Yeah, right. I love you, Stevie, but let’s be real—you and how many others?”

Steve clenches his jaw and fists. It is a low blow, the asset can tell. Steve Rogers doesn’t like to be reminded of the shortcomings of his body, but the asset knows it’s necessary.

“He can fight,” Steve retorts, referring to the asset.

_What?_

Bucky Barnes shakes his head.

“He’s dangerous.”

“He’s _you,”_ Steve points out. “You wouldn’t hurt me. _He_ wouldn’t hurt me.”

Bucky Barnes’ eyes dart to Steve’s bruised neck. The asset feels _ashamed._

“Not on purpose, yeah," Bucky Barnes says. "But his mind doesn’t belong to him right now. And he knows it.”

The asset lowers his head. Steve lets out a pained gasp.

“Stop talking about yourself that way!” he says, enraged. 

Bucky Barnes just lets out a sigh. “I don’t mean to,” he says softly. “But it’s true. He’s unstable, and even if he can get a grip on himself sometimes, there are _words,_ Steve. Words that will activate the soldier in him. _Trigger words.”_

“No, he—“

_The assssset is fucking overloading. The asset likes the way Steve Rogers defends him, but the asset will comply if they use the words. The asset is_ breaking.

“It’s true,” the asset admits, very softly. “Everything he said. It’s true.”

Steve Rogers’ eyes get big and watery, and the asset can’t stand that. 

“N-no,” Steve sobs. “You can’t possibly want—“

“If they come here. And they activate. Me. And I lose control. And kill you. I won’t be able to stand it,” the asset says. “I might. Blow my brains out. Right on the spot.”

There’s a heavy silence.

Steve Rogers sobs harder.

Bucky Barnes approaches them both. He puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “The only thing that got me through that hell was you,” he confesses tenderly. “Knowing that you were alive somewhere, and the memories of our times together. If you die, you’re gonna kill me too.”

Steve Rogers breaks down crying.

* * *

The asset gathers his stuff.

Steve Rogers has locked himself in another room after realizing that Bucky Barnes and the asset were on the same page, and he couldn’t do anything in his power to keep the asset safe. It hurt, of course, and mostly it _scared the asset shitless._ But there was no other way. 

Even if somehow he could beat Hydra, which he doubted, there was still Bucky Barnes to consider. Like, the actual Bucky Barnes who belonged to that time. He’d come back, eventually, and there would be no place for the asset.

He has to leave.

Bucky Barnes still carries himself with the discretion the asset has mastered, but it takes one to know one, so the asset immediately feels his presence as he enters the room.

“What is it.”

Bucky Barnes says nothing. The asset turns to look at him.

They just stare at each other for a minute. Bucky Barnes gives him a sympathetic smile.

He looks so much like the asset. And at the same time, he doesn’t. He looks… put together. The asset would dare say, _happy._

He wonders how.

“I wanted to tell you so much. But it’s harder than I thought it would be. You’ve been through so much.” Bucky Barnes’ voice cracks a little. “And there’s still a long way to go. But you’ll make it. I promise you, you’ll make it. And it will be… hard. It still is, some days. But it’s…” he pauses, licks his lips. Then he shows the asset the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen. “So fucking worth it.”

“How do you know. I’ll make it. How. Are you so sure.”

“Because I remember _this,”_ Bucky Barnes states. “I remember this clearly. They are so blind, those Hydra bastards. They’ll underestimate your love for him time after time, because they have none themselves. And they can wipe you as many times as they want. You’ll always remember him. And he’ll always be there to pick you up when you can’t do it yourself.”

The arm whirs.

Bucky Barnes sighs.

“Jesus, I certainly don’t miss those noises.”

“They’ll. Make me. Forget.” The asset says.

Bucky Barnes grimaces. “Temporarily.”

There’s a silence. Then the asset asks, “Are you. Happy?”

Bucky Barnes’ eyes widen, but then the smile is back to his face. He runs the metal hand through his short hair and a random sparkle catches the asset’s attention as he becomes aware of something he hadn’t seen before. There’s a golden ring in Bucky Barnes’ ring finger. The asset heart skips a beat.

_Could it be…?_

Bucky Barnes catches him staring. He can’t reveal much about the future, so he just nods and winks at the asset.

_The asset can’t fucking believe what that must mean. The asset needs to process it further to fully get it,_ so instead he asks another thing.

“Did you,” the asset says. “Get the. Picture?”

Bucky Barnes grins big. He knows exactly what the asset is referring to. “The club picture?” 

The asset nods. Bucky Barnes chuckles. 

“Yeah, yes I did. It wasn’t easy, but we couldn’t let go of such a treasure, right?”

The asset agrees.

Bucky Barnes’ smile turns melancholic. He places a hand on the asset’s shoulder, squeezes him tightly. “You’re gonna be fine, champ. I promise you—the future is fucking fantastic.”

Bucky Barnes sounds sincere. And he seems put together. And. Happy.

And.

For the first time in a very long time, the asset feels. _Hopeful._

* * *

Steve Rogers comes out of the room eventually. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable anymore.

Bucky Barnes tells them both that the handlers will be suspicious, since it usually doesn’t take the asset much time to finish a mission, and they’ll ask for proof. Steve Rogers reluctantly gives the asset a compass with Bucky Barnes’ picture in it.

“This will do,” Bucky Barnes says.

“Take care of it with your life,” Steve Rogers tells the asset. 

The asset nods. As soon as the asset leaves, Bucky Barnes will follow, for he has to return to his time, too. 

Steve Rogers is crushed at the idea of losing both of them, so the asset says, “Steve,” and Steve’s eyes widen, so the asset realizes this is the first time he's called Steve by his name since he got there. “When _he._ Comes back. Your Bucky. You’re gonna squeeze his hand real tight, and I’m gonna be. Very confused, but happy, and I. Just got it, Steve. I just got it. You were crying, and smiling that day. Because you were thinking of _me.”_

Steve Rogers sobs.

“Hold his hand real tight, when he comes back,” Bucky Barnes interjects. The asset looks at him and sees the memory is still important to him, for there are tears in his eyes too. “It’ll get us through the darkest times. It’s the first thing—” Bucky Barnes lets out a choked noise. “It’s the first memory I got back from our times together. Isn’t it?”

He’s staring at the asset.

The asset nods. “Yes.”

Steve throws himself at the asset and hugs him like there’s no tomorrow, and, _okay._

“I’ll do it. I’ll hold your hand real tight. And I’ll look for you. I’ll never stop looking for you.”

“Separation is. Inevitable,” the asset says.

“But so is reunion,” Steve reminds him, and Steve Rogers always tells the truth. 

Steve Rogers is the only person Bucky Barnes, _the asset,_ can trust. Steve Rogers will squeeze his hand when he comes home tired from Basic, and will look at him with a teary smile like he’s the most precious thing in the world, so maybe, with time, he’ll start to believe that. 

And then, in a few months, Steve Rogers will become Captain America, and he’ll never stop looking for Bucky Barnes. So somehow, the asset knows that everything is going to be okay.


End file.
